i wake up, i feel the same as i did the night before, and i never remember the taste in my mouth.
somewhere between tequila and fucking crazy,
it hits me that i'm at a loss.
and somewhere between masturbation and a
cliched constant suicide, a level plain has been reached:
i am never at home anywhere, even when i feel like it.
i guess that rules out death as an option;
there isnt much place to be there anyways.
just speeding up my ascent to an eternity on the streets of hell-
where i'll sleep in a cardboard box.
quarters will be sparce and worthless,
and anything of value is stolen by my silent demons.

honestly, who gets so depressed they lose the will to die?

08/14/2003

Posted on 08/14/2003
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